Sir Graham Henry at the Beach

To his grandsonhe was ‘Sir Up and Under’.His calf muscles sinewedlike the seams of hand stitched rugby balls.

Still strongbut slightly bent now,his shoulders, touched byaccoladed scrum coaches & the queen’s sword,carried the boy down to the beachlike a world cup.

I watched.

What had I done?What have we all, comparedto the coach of men in black?Walking down the beachpopping seaweed under feetthat have touched the hallowedgrass of Edenretelling tales of defeatingthe French to his daughter’s son.